1Tell me no more her hair was lovely brown,
2Nor that it did in
curious curls hang down,
3Or that it did her snowy shoulders shroud
Cynthia in a sable cloud.
5Tell me no more of her black diamond eyes,
6Whose cheerful look made all my sorrows fly
Phoebus’s influence and light
northern winter’s half-year’s night.
9Tell me no more her cheeks excelled the rose,
10Though lily leaves did sweetly interpose
Aurora rising from her bed,
12Her snowy hand shading her
13Tell me no more of her white even nose,
14Nor that her ruby lips, when they
15Did so revive this drooping heart of mine,
golden apples on a silver shrine.
17Tell me no more her breasts were heaps of snow,
18White as the swans where crystal
Thames doth flow;
Diana was her virgin breast.
20Her noble mind can never be expressed;
This, but the casket was of her rich soul,
22Which now doth shine above the highest
23Tell me no more of her perfection,
24Because it doth increase my heart’s dejection.
25Nor tell me that she passed her happy days
26In singing heavenly and the
27Nor, like the swans on crystal
28She sung her
ere she hence did go;
29Nor never more tell my sad soul of mirth:
30With her, I lost most of my joys on Earth.
31Nor can I ever raise my drooping spirit
32Until, with her, those joys I shall inherit:
33Those glories which our finite thoughts transcend,
34Where we shall praises sing,
world without end,
35To Him that made both her and me of
36And gave us spirits of celestial birth.
37Tell me no more of her unblemished fame,
38Which doth immortalize her virgin name
39Like fragrant odors’ aromatic fumes,
40Which all succeeding ages still perfumes;
41Nor why I mourn for her, ask me no more:
42For all my life I shall her loss
43Till infinite power her
dust and mine shall raise
44To sing in Heaven His everlasting praise.